


girls like us

by lesbianryuko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (very briefly) - Freeform, Bonding, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Trans Bernadetta von Varley, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Hubert von Vestra, fe3h exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26016376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianryuko/pseuds/lesbianryuko
Summary: After coming out as a woman, Helena von Vestra finds unexpected support in Bernadetta.
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley & Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	girls like us

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! this was written for the @fe3hexchange on twitter! my person was @ssnufkins, who requested platonic hubernie!! i'm nonbinary and i have brainworms so this happened <3 i hope u enjoy!!!

_You can do it, Bernie. Just walk up to her and say what’s on your mind._

Of course, that’s much easier said than done, especially when the subject of Bernadetta’s anxiety is none other than Helena von Vestra.

It’s been over five years since they first met, but while it’s certainly gotten easier to speak to her with time and familiarity, Bernadetta still occasionally falls victim to the tactician’s piercing stare or fear-inducing grin. Understandably, she tends not to come to Helena for casual conversation very often, but today is different. Today, so help her, they are going to _bond_.

She finds Helena where she usually is, in the war council room. She tries to be as quiet as possible, just in case she chickens out at the last minute, but Helena still looks up from her paperwork as Bernadetta approaches the open doorway. Her hair, which has started to grow out, flops into her face, which _should_ make her less terrifying because that’s one less scary eye to look at, but it doesn’t; it just emphasizes her “dark sorceress” look. It works for her, and Bernadetta wouldn’t want her to change herself for someone else—they both know what that’s like, it seems—but it certainly doesn’t make things easier.

“Bernadetta?” Helena calls. “Her Majesty isn’t in here.”

Bernadetta jumps. She thought she wasn’t visible, but perhaps Helena recognized her from her footsteps—or her nervous breaths. She tries not to feel creeped out; it’s prudent, she reasons, for Helena to be so observant, given her role.

She’s relatively unchanged since the last time they spoke one-on-one, but something about Helena feels different from before—before she made the announcement that she was not a man, but a woman; before she publicly called herself Helena for the first time. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that they have something in common that makes her feel more approachable.

“I-I know,” Bernadetta says quietly, taking a few tentative steps through the doorway. “I was, um...I was looking for you.”

Helena raises a thin eyebrow. “Well, well, how unexpected. I thought you were still afraid of me.” Is she making fun of her? She doesn’t really seem like it, but Bernadetta can never be too sure.

“Not all the time,” she huffs. “But even if I was, you seem a little less...intimidating now.”

Helena frowns. “Now? You mean since...ah.” Her expression changes as the realization dawns on her. “Is it because I am a woman that you believe me to be less menacing?”

Bernadetta yelps. Why is she physically incapable of talking to Helena without offending her? “Ah! No-no-no-no-no! I mean, yes! I mean, sort of! I mean—that’s not what I meant!”

Helena chuckles and holds a hand up. “Alright, calm down. I know you didn’t mean it that way. I simply couldn’t help myself. My apologies.”

Bernadetta purses her lips and lets out a frustrated groan. _She was just teasing. It’s fine. You’re fine._

“In all seriousness, if my coming out as a woman has made you less afraid of me, then I’m glad for it,” Helena says. “Believe it or not, I only wish to frighten enemies, not allies.”

“Oh. Good! That’s good,” Bernadetta says, taking a deep breath. “It’s just that it’s, um, comforting. To know that there’s someone else who understands.”

Helena nods knowingly. Bernadetta started living openly as a girl almost as soon as she got to the Officers Academy; after being tormented at home for so long, it was the least she could do to alleviate some of her stress. She’s not sure she would have survived the school year if she’d had to hear people call her by her dead name all the time in addition to everything else. Helena must have known, though, must have heard of the eccentric child of Count Varley, must have noticed her Adam’s apple or cracking voice. Of course she would have known. Girls like them learn to find each other.

“I see,” Helena says. “I suppose that makes sense.”

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Then Bernadetta remembers why she came here and what she was going to say.

“Well, I just wanted to tell you that I’m happy for you,” she blurts. “That you were able to, um, find yourself.” Her face heats up as Helena watches her. “Anyway, um, that’s it. Have a good rest of your day. Bye!” Before Helena can respond, Bernadetta turns on her heel and darts out the door.

As she rushes down the hallway, she can’t help but feel bittersweet about the whole thing. They _did_ bond, she thinks, but there’s still a distance between them that she’s not quite sure how to bridge, even though she wants to. She wishes she could just stitch up the hole preventing them from getting closer, the same way she would a piece of fabric.

_Wait a minute._

And with that, Bernadetta has an idea.

—

For the next few days, Bernadetta observes Helena from a distance, sketching her frame, comparing her height to others’ to figure out her approximate measurements. It would be weird and awkward to ask her right out, and besides, she wants this to be a surprise. She’s sure Helena has noticed Bernadetta tailing her, but she hasn’t said anything, mercifully. Bernadetta isn’t sure what she would say if Helena asked her what she was doing. Even if she did manage to come up with a lie, Helena has always been good at seeing through her excuses.

Once she’s fairly certain she’s figured out what size clothing Helena wears, Bernadetta enlists Dorothea’s help in going shopping downtown. She has a pretty good idea of what she’s looking for, but it’s good to have someone fashion-savvy with her, and bringing a friend makes talking to the merchants a lot easier.

“So, Bern,” Dorothea says as they make their way down the cobblestone street that leads to the town near Garreg Mach, “what are we looking for again?”

“Um, a dress,” Bernadetta says. She can see the buildings and merchant stalls in the distance. “Preferably black. For Helena.”

Dorothea nods. “She doesn’t have a whole lot of dresses, does she?”

Bernadetta shakes her head. “Not that I’ve seen. I mean, she might just not really like them, but I thought maybe she didn’t quite know where to start. I know I felt the same way at first.”

“I saw her wearing one the other day,” Dorothea says. “It was pretty conservative, and she had a coat over it, like she was trying it out to see how it felt. I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you got one for her.”

“Oh!” Bernadetta says. “That’s good. I’m glad. I feel like all I do is put my foot in my mouth whenever I try to talk to her, so I hope this can make up for it…”

Dorothea giggles. “I’m sure it seems that way, but I think she does care. We’ve been fighting together for five years now, after all. She just has an...unconventional way of showing it.”

At first, it looks like they might not be able to get her anything. There aren’t a whole lot of clothing vendors, and most of them are selling cheap, plain garbs typically worn by commoners, not stylish pieces for polished noblewomen. Most of the dresses they see are too bright or tacky. When they do find something Helena might like, it turns out to be too small for her. Just when they think they’ve probably struck out, though, Bernadetta spots something long and dark hanging in the back of one of the merchants’ shops.

“Oh!” she says, pulling on Dorothea’s sleeve. “How about that one?”

At the sight of it, Dorothea immediately approaches the seller and asks to see it up close. The merchant happily obliges and pulls out the garment. “If you’re looking for something for a tall, classy woman, you’ve made the right choice,” he says.

As soon as the sunlight hits it, Bernadetta knows that it’s perfect.

It’s a plain black, backless dress that looks like it would go just about to Helena’s knees. It’s sleek and has a subtle shimmer to it, and it’s just the sort of thing Bernadetta was picturing.

Dorothea looks like she’s thinking the same thing. They exchange a knowing glance, and then Dorothea says to the merchant, “We’ll take it.”

—

The dress is beautiful as it is, but Bernadetta decides to add her own little flair to it: a pattern of a small red rose, which she embroiders on the upper left side, near where Helena’s collarbone would be. It fits her, she thinks—they’re both thorny, blood-red, but sweet as well.

This time, Bernadetta summons Helena to her room, the dress laid out on her bed. Her heart pounds with every second that passes waiting for Helena to arrive. Dorothea was confident that she’d like the gift, and Bernadetta replays those words of reassurance over and over again in her head.

When she hears the knock on her door, Bernadetta nearly jumps out of her skin, even though it was entirely expected. “Come in!” she says, and wonders if her voice betrays her nervousness. Probably.

Helena steps tentatively into the room and closes the door quietly behind her. Her hair is pulled up into a short ponytail, but she’s left some of her bangs loose. As she takes in Bernadetta’s room, her gaze settles on the dress on the bed, and her eyes narrow. “What is this about?” she asks.

“Um, I got something for you,” Bernadetta says, gesturing to the dress. “It’s...sort of a peace offering. For all the times I’ve called you terrifying. But it’s also a gift. Dorothea helped me pick it out. I added the rose myself. I figured you probably haven’t worn many dresses, so I thought I’d give you one to try. I, um...I think you’d look really nice in it.”

Helena doesn’t respond immediately. For once, she seems to be well and truly surprised. She walks over to the bed and gently picks up the dress, looking it up and down, then turning it around and examining the back.

“Oh,” Bernadetta adds, “if it’s the wrong size, I might be able to tailor it for you. I tried to make sure I got it right. That’s why I was, um, following you around and sketching you last week.”

“Ah,” Helena says. “I wondered about that, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t get a straight answer if I confronted you directly.”

She holds the dress up to her body; it looks like it should fit. Her gaze softens. “It is lovely,” she says. “It’s a bit...different from what I normally wear, but…” If Bernadetta isn’t mistaken, she thinks she sees Helena’s cheeks redden, just slightly. “It couldn’t hurt to try it on.”

Bernadetta can feel a weight lifting off her shoulders. “I really hope you like it,” she says. “I remember when I first started wearing stuff like that. It was unfamiliar, sure, but it also felt...right. I thought maybe this could do the same for you.”

Helena cracks a smile. “Perhaps it will.” She pauses. “Could you...step out for a moment?”

Bernadetta covers her gasp with her hand. _She’s trying it on! She’s really trying it on!_

“Oh, of course!” she stammers and rushes out the door. Her heart brims with excitement.

A few minutes later, she hears Helena’s voice: “Alright. I’m ready.”

Bernadetta opens the door a crack and slips back into her room. Helena stands in the center, barefooted—and beautiful.

The dress reaches to around her knees, flaring outward a bit at the bottom. When she turns, Bernadetta can see the way the pale skin of her back contrasts with the black of the fabric. It hugs her body perfectly; Bernadetta can’t help but be proud of herself for getting the measurements right after basically just eyeballing them.

“It looks so good!” she gushes, and she means it. Helena looks like a rich widow whose husband died under mysterious circumstances.

Helena smiles in satisfaction. “I’m glad we agree.” It’s possibly the most genuine Bernadetta has ever seen her. She’s not actively trying to be scary; she’s not putting on a performance. She just _is_.

Helena chuckles and shakes her head. “Oh, if my father could see me now…”

Bernadetta nods and sits down on her bed. “I know that feeling, too.” Even now, her skin crawls at the memories of her childhood. “I knew I was a girl from a pretty young age. When I tried to tell my father, he got so mad. He said if I was really a girl, I should learn to act like one.”

Helena sits down next to her. “Your father is a cruel, depraved excuse of a man. If Her Majesty and I have anything to say about it—and we certainly will—you shall not have to see him ever again. That is a promise. You may not ever truly be free of his memory, but at least he will be only that: a memory.”

Bernadetta nods again, slowly. “I could say the same to you.”

Helena is silent for a long time. Finally, she says, “You know, I think you were right.”

Bernadetta frowns. “About what?”

“When you said that it comforted you to know someone whose experiences were similar to yours.” She’s quiet for several moments. “I think, perhaps, I understand what you meant. So thank you.”

The words are so unexpected that Bernadetta thinks she feels tears pricking at her eyes. _Thank you._ To hear those words spoken so tenderly, by _Helena_ of all people—it’s something her teenage self never could’ve imagined, burdened as she was with low self-esteem and fear, and yet it’s all real: Helena von Vestra sitting beside her, in a dress Bernadetta picked out and customized, admitting that she’s given her a sense of kinship and relief. It’s moments like these that make her realize that sometimes it pays off to start a conversation, to take a risk, to let others in. For a chance at friendship, no matter how odd or unexpected, perhaps it’s worth it to try.


End file.
